The success of Malbec is a story in two parts. Hadley Hooper for The Wall Street Journal

Certain wines are so popular it’s practically impossible to remember when they were not. Malbec, for example, was just another discarded French grape long before it became a staple of every wine shop in America—and a veritable synonym for Argentina.

The success of Malbec is a story in two parts. The first took place in the mid-19th century, when Malbec was brought to Argentina from France. Little regarded at home, thanks to ongoing problems with mildew and rot, Malbec was nevertheless one of several vines selected by the French agronomist Michel Pouget to improve the quality of Argentine wines. At the time, most Argentine vineyards were planted with poor-quality hybrid grapes.

Though Cabernet, that perpetually prestigious varietal, was the great hope for a while, nothing flourished in Argentina quite as well as Malbec. The hot, high-altitude region of Mendoza proved particularly well suited to the thin-skinned, late-ripening grape—much more so than the cool climates of the Loire and Bordeaux. The only region in France where Malbec is still grown is Cahors, where it’s known as Côt Noir. (With nearly 1,000 different names, Malbec may the world’s most-monikered grape.)

The Malbec bandwagon ground to a halt in the mid-20th century when Argentina experienced an economic reversal and many Malbec producers pulled their vines out, replanting them with cheaper, more prolific varietals. Producers were reportedly even urged to dilute their wines with water by Eva Perón (giving the country’s wine lovers a good reason to cry for Argentina, too).

The second part of the Malbec story began about 20 years ago, when a number of ambitious vintners that included locals and foreigners from countries like Italy and France decided to rehabilitate the quality and reputation of Argentine wine. They made significant changes in vineyards and wineries, replanting varietals, reducing yields and improving wine-making technology. The wines they created in the mid-to-late 1990s won international attention and acclaim, though it would be a while before Malbec became a household name.

Actually, it took until about 2006. That was the year that Americans finally began to recognize the grape, according to Nick Ramkowsky, an Argentine wine importer. He had begun sending Argentine Malbec to the U.S. five years earlier, through import company Vine Connections, and his first hurdle was explaining what the grape was—and was not. “A lot of people thought that Malbec was another name for Chilean Merlot,” said Mr. Ramkowsky. Sometimes he had to tutor his clients in geography, too; a good many wine drinkers—including wine retailers—thought that Chile and Argentina were two sides of the same country. To this end, the Vine Connections sales team offered to hang both “Chile” and “Argentina” signs in wine stores, just to make sure the wines were properly located. (Some 50 retailers took them up on the offer.)

Those signs aren’t required much anymore; in fact, most wine drinkers could probably find their way to the Argentine wines by the size of section alone. At K&D Wines in Manhattan, wine buyer Tim Finch noted that when he joined the store eight years ago there were only 10 Argentine wines; today there are more four times that number—nearly all Malbecs.

According to a study commissioned for the Wines of Argentina, sales of Malbec to the U.S. (the top export market for the wines) are up 17% so far this year compared with the same time last year, and they’ve been trending ever upward since 2004. Malbec accounts for more than 64% of all Argentine wine sold in this country.

So why did Malbec finally hit it big? Mr. Ramkowsky’s theory: It was all about populist appeal. “I think that Malbec became popular because people asked for it,” he said. “It was a wine discovered by regular people—not sommeliers.”

Mr. Ramkowsky had a point; Malbec, while popular in stores, doesn’t have a big presence in restaurants. In fact, I’ve rarely seen more than one or two Malbecs on a list, and they’re usually relegated to a section with a vaguely uninviting title like “Southern Hemisphere” or “Miscellaneous Reds.”

And there are plenty of reasons that Malbec might appeal to “regular people” (perhaps the same reasons it doesn’t appeal to sommeliers): It’s rarely expensive or hard to find. Its flavors are straightforward, with notes of spice and red-berry fruit. The best Malbecs also have a lively acidity and approachable tannins. I think of it as a meatier, manlier version of Merlot.

But just how good are the wines on the shelves? I hadn’t tasted Malbec in a while and was eager to find out.

I collected a couple of dozen Malbecs from a few different vintages, including 2010 (a very good year, though yields were low) and 2009 (also a very good vintage), plus a couple of stragglers from 2008 (a pretty inconsistent year overall). The prices ranged from $10 to $45, though most were well under $20 a bottle.

The results were mixed. The good news was that I found only a few truly unappealing or badly made wines—excessively oaky, markedly astringent or simply lacking in fruit. On the other hand, there weren’t any wines that I’d call profound. There were, instead, a number of delicious wines priced well.

The lively 2010 Malbecs from Crios and Don Gascón cost a mere $11 a bottle and were brimming with ripe, juicy fruit. There was a more weighty 2009 Altos Las Hormigas Terroir ($12), marked by intense aromas and lush red fruit, and a solidly appealing Malbec from Hacienda del Plata ($11), whose slightly chewy tannins and lively acidity made it a pleasure to pair with food. A particularly good wine was the 2009 Bramare Viña Cobos Valle de Uco ($45), made by Paul Hobbs in partnership with Andrea Marchiori and Luis Barraud. Dense and rich with chewy tannins, it was a vivid example of how serious Malbec can be when it’s made from old vines—and it usually means it costs a bit more.

But the success of Malbec isn’t in these pricier bottles. It’s a wine, after all, with a populist appeal, a wine that everyone can enjoy and afford. As for Mr. Ramkowsky, now that Malbec is no longer a mystery, he’s ready for a fresh challenge or two. He thinks there are other wines with a great deal of promise, like Torrontés, an Argentine grape that some have even called “the next Malbec”—never mind that it’s a rather exotic white grape. In fact, he believes Torrontés will be even easier to popularize than Malbec “now that everyone knows where Argentina is located.”

I have a beat-up paperback book entitled, A Cookbook for Poor Poets and Others by Ann Rogers, published originally in 1966, then republished by Scribners in 1970. On the inside cover of my copy, there’s a very nice inscription in blue ballpoint ink, “For Nell June 30, 1974 Love, Leroy.” I thought the title was cool, and hey, money is tight in 2012. I paid 99 cents for it at a bookshop.

In Rogers’ introduction to the book, she states three rules: “always have fresh bread,” “always use butter” and “always serve wine.” Any poor poet couldn’t go wrong there, especially with rule number three.

Prices have skyrocketed since 1970, and the word on the street is that they won’t be going down soon. This is one very good reason for people to pay attention to the upcoming November election. The economy is bottom-feeding right now. If we want to look forward to more than bread, butter and cheap wine, we need to raise our voices at the ballot box.

In the meantime, the Wall Street Journal (most articles can be accessed for free online or full editions at a library) publishes incredible food and drink ideas in their Saturday editions. I have a link to their food section on this site. Today’s edition includes some recipes for Asian Soup that sound brilliant to me. What better for a poor poet’s soul in the dead of winter than recipes for Asian soup?

In posting this article, please note that mine is a personal blogsite with no commercial intent. –SB

Whether light and clear or rich and thick, soup always satisfies. I grew up in San Clemente, Calif., eating simple Asian soups that my mother prepared five nights a week as part of our traditional Vietnamese family suppers. We ladled her soup of the day into our rice bowls and enjoyed it throughout the meal, often slurping it as if a beverage.

On the weekends, we assembled and breakfasted on hot noodle soups made with broth that my mother had simmered the day before. When we had special celebrations, be it Christmas, Easter or Tet (Vietnamese New Year), extravagant soups loaded with fresh crab and fancy mushrooms kicked off the festivities. For an immigrant family like ours, the soups helped to reinforce our identity. While my siblings and I were crazy for mac and cheese, our heritage was nearby, in one brothy form or another.

During my bratty teens, a time when I mostly craved burgers and pizza, I complained about all the soup in our diet. My mother shot back, “Soup is good food.” She borrowed the line from Campbell’s not because she was a canned chicken noodle devotee, but because the slogan echoed her gut belief: Soup comforted the soul as it nourished the body.

Her response launched my love of homemade soups. Nowadays, my own family enjoys dinner in a bowl at least three times a week.

Many Asian soups can be made with water but the truly magnificent ones depend on a good stock. I simmer a batch of multipurpose chicken stock whenever I have time and freeze it in quart-size containers; you can make two to three soups from one batch of stock. Featuring chicken parts, onion, ginger and salt, the golden liquid is what I deploy for a pan-Asian roster of soups. (In emergency situations, I doctor up canned broth.)

Another favorite this time of the year is a Thai meatball soup (gaeng jued tao hu sarai) comprised of silken tofu, seaweed and little pork meatballs spiked with garlic and cilantro. It’s a mild soup that calms the palate in between bites of fiery dishes.

To recover from a night of overindulging, I look to big bowls of noodle soup. Light and clean-tasting chicken and cellophane noodle soup (mien ga) is a Vietnamese classic that can’t be beat for its sheer ease. To make it, you simply tweak the stock with fish sauce and yellow rock sugar, then add the noodles and shredded chicken. Those foundational elements soothe while the plucky garnishes of fresh Vietnamese coriander, black pepper and chilis revive the senses.

For a fun project that pays off handsomely, make some Asian dumplings and serve them in a bowl of hot broth. My take on Japanese sui gyoza includes a dashi-like smoky chicken brew. A bowl of plump dumplings in broth is cozy and appeals to children and adults. Like all soups, it’s a universal pleasure that tames hunger and warms the spirit.

Ingredients

Chubby 3-inch piece fresh ginger, unpeeled and smashed with the flat side of a chef’s knife

2½ teaspoons salt

What To Do

1. Rinse chicken under cool water. Remove and discard any loose fat. Using a heavy cleaver, whack bones to break them partway or all the way through, making the cuts at 1- to 2-inch intervals. This exposes the marrow, which enriches the stock.

2. Put bones in a stockpot, add 4 quarts water and place over high heat. Bring almost to a boil, then lower heat to a simmer. For the next few minutes, use a ladle or large spoon to skim off and discard any scum that rises to the top.

3. Add onion, ginger and salt. Adjust heat to maintain a simmer. You want small bubbles to constantly break lightly on the surface. Let stock cook, uncovered, for 2½ hours.

4. Remove pot from heat and let stand undisturbed for 30 minutes. Position a fine-mesh sieve over a large saucepan. Gently ladle stock through the sieve. Remove and discard bones as they get in your way. Tilt the stockpot to ladle out as much clear stock as possible, then discard the sediment-laden liquid and any remaining bits at the bottom of the pot.

5. Taste the stock. If it is not as flavorful as you would like, simmer it to reduce the liquid and concentrate the flavors. Once you are satisfied with the taste, let stock cool completely, cover, and refrigerate until fat solidifies on the surface, for at least 8 hours. Remove and discard fat. The stock is now ready to use. Refrigerate for up to 1 week, or freeze for up to 3 months.

Quick Stock Options

Homemade stock has inimitable depth and flavor, but when time is limited, you can fudge it with canned chicken broth. Choose one that is relatively clear and tastes like chicken and not much else. I keep full-sodium Swanson broth on hand for emergency soups.

Option 1: If you have 30 minutes to spare, imbue the canned broth with Asian flavor. In a saucepan, dilute canned broth with water in a ratio of 2 parts broth to 1 part water. Start with between 5 and 10% more liquid than what you will actually need, as there will be some evaporation.

For every 4 cups mixed liquid, you will need 2 quarter-sized slices ginger and 1 scallion, cut into 3-inch lengths. Lightly smash these ingredients with the broad side of a cleaver or chef’s knife. Bring broth and water to a simmer, add ginger and scallion, and simmer gently, uncovered, for 20 minutes. Discard scallion and ginger. The stock is now ready to use.

Option 2: For an instant stock, just combine canned broth with water in a ratio of 2 parts broth to 1 part water. The result won’t be as complex as Option 1, but it will work.

Ms. Nguyen is the author of “Into the Vietnamese Kitchen,” “Asian Dumplings” and “Asian Tofu,” all from Ten Speed Press, where the original versions of these recipes appear.

F. Martin Ramin for The Wall Street Journal, Styling by Anne CardenasHot-and-sour soup is zingy and great for dinner, and terrific for lunch.

Hot-and-Sour Soup

A zingy soup that’s great for dinner and terrific for lunch with a sandwich, salad or dumplings. Dried lily bulbs, sold at Chinese markets (usually near the dried mushrooms), impart a mild tang and crunch. If they’re not available, substitute ½ cup of shredded bamboo shoots.

What To Do

2. In a 3- or 4-quart pot, heat oil over high heat. Add ginger and cook, stirring frequently, until ginger is super fragrant, about a minute. Add lily bulbs and mushrooms, stir until you can smell their perfume, about 15 seconds, then add stock.

3. Bring to a boil, lower to a simmer, then add remaining 1½ tablespoons soy sauce and 1 tablespoon rice wine. Taste and season with salt and white pepper. Aim for a spicy kick and savory depth. Add pork and tofu, stirring to separate. Meanwhile, dissolve remaining ¼ cup cornstarch in 6 tablespoons water. Set aside.

4. When pork has just cooked through, give the cornstarch a final stir, then gradually add to the soup. You may not need the entire amount—aim to create a soup that’s silky thick, not gloppy. When satisfied, give the egg a final stir and pour it into the soup in a wide circle. Stir gently as the egg solidifies into suspended ribbons. Add the Chinkiang vinegar, gently stirring. Taste and adjust flavor with salt, white pepper and vinegar. Ladle into a serving bowl or individual soup bowls. Scatter green onion on top and serve.

3. Put chicken stock in a 3-quart saucepan. Add 1 pinch sugar, 1/4 teaspoon salt and remaining 2 tablespoons soy sauce. Bring to a boil. Use two teaspoons to scoop up pork and shape into 1-inch meatballs. Pass the raw pork back and forth between the spoons to smooth the surface before casting the meatball into the pot. You should have about 16 meatballs. When the soup returns to a boil, lower the heat to simmer for about 4 minutes to cook the pork. Skim and discard any scum that rises to the surface.

4. Meanwhile, cut tofu into 3/4-inch cubes or break it up into small pieces with your fingers. When the soup has finished simmering, add tofu. Return soup to a simmer before adding seaweed. Continue to simmer until seaweed has expanded and softened, 3-4 minutes.

5. Taste and make any final flavor adjustments with extra salt, sugar or pepper before serving. Garnish with green onion and cilantro leaves.

Gyoza Dumplings in Smoky Chicken Soup

A major project that’s well worth it. Double up on the dumplings and pan-fry the extras for a side of pot stickers. If you’re short on time and have a favorite frozen Asian dumpling, feel free to use it here.

Serves: 4 Total Time: 1½ hours

Broth

5 cups chicken stock

1 tablespoon sake

2 pieces dried kelp (kombu), each about 3 to 4 inches long and 2 inches wide

2 cups lightly packed spinach leaves or other tender greens such as chrysanthemum or dandelion

1½ to 2 inches of carrot, cut into fine julienne strips

1 small green onion, white and green parts, cut into thin rings

What To Do

1. Put chicken stock and sake in a large pot. Add kombu and let soak for 15 minutes. Bring to a boil, then lower heat to a simmer. Cover and cook for 5 minutes. Remove from heat and add bonito flakes by scattering them over the surface. Allow to sit for 3-4 minutes. To ensure that all the bits are removed, position a mesh strainer lined with cheesecloth or paper towel over another pot. Pour stock through, saving the kombu for another use, if you wish. If using right away, reheat the stock and cover it to keep it hot. Otherwise cool, refrigerate overnight and reheat before parboiling the dumplings (step 5).

2. To make the filling, toss cabbage with ¼ teaspoon salt in a large bowl. Set aside for about 15 minutes. Drain in a fine-mesh strainer, rinse with water and drain again. To remove more moisture, squeeze the cabbage in your hands over the sink. You should have about ¼ cup firmly packed cabbage. Transfer cabbage to a bowl and add garlic, ginger, Chinese chives, pork and shrimp. Stir and lightly mash the ingredients so that they start to come together.

3. In a small bowl, stir together remaining 1/8 teaspoon salt, sugar, pepper, soy sauce, sake and sesame oil. Pour these seasonings over the meat and cabbage mixture, then stir and fold ingredients into a cohesive, thick mixture. To develop the flavors, cover with plastic wrap and set aside at room temperature for 30 minutes. You should have about 1 cup of filling.

4. Fill each dumpling wrapper with about 2 teaspoons of filling. Brush the edge with water and seal well to form a half-moon. As you work, put the finished dumplings on a parchment-paper-lined baking sheet that’s been lightly dusted with flour. When done, loosely cover with plastic wrap or a dry dishtowel to prevent drying.

5. Parboil dumplings in a large pot filled halfway with water. Gently drop each in, nudging it with a wooden spoon to prevent sticking. When they float to the top, after 3-5 minutes, use a slotted spoon or skimmer to scoop them up, pausing above the pot to allow excess water to drip back down before adding the dumplings to the hot stock. Raise the heat on the stock to gently simmer and finish cooking the dumplings.

6. Meanwhile, add spinach to the boiling water. When it wilts, drain, flush with cold water and drain again. Divide among individual bowls.

7. Add carrot to stock. When dumplings are done, they will look puffy and glossy. Scoop up dumplings and divide among soup bowls. Bring the stock to a boil, taste and adjust the flavor with salt, as needed. Then ladle the stock and carrot into the bowls. Top with green onion and serve immediately.

Chicken and Cellophane Noodle Soup

This easy and bright noodle soup nourishes and restores. Sold in boxes or plastic bags, yellow rock sugar (aka rock candy) lends a round mouthfeel to many Vietnamese noodle-soup broths. Look for it at Chinese and Vietnamese markets.

What To Do

1. In a large pot, bring stock to a boil over high heat. Drop in chicken breasts. When water starts bubbling at the edges of the pot, remove pot from the heat and cover tightly. Let stand for 20 minutes. The chicken breast should be firm yet still yield a bit to the touch. Remove it and let cool, then shred with your fingers into small bite-sized pieces. Set aside.

2. Add fish sauce and rock sugar to soup, then bring it to a boil over medium-high heat. Taste and add salt, if necessary. Add the chicken, mushrooms and noodles. As soon as soup returns to a boil, remove from heat. The noodles will have become clear and plump. Taste once more to check the seasoning and adjust with fish sauce or salt.

3.Transfer noodles and broth into soup bowls. Garnish with a sprinkle of Vietnamese coriander or cilantro and lots of pepper. Serve immediately. If using, pass chilis at the table.

—Ms. Nguyen is the author of “Into the Vietnamese Kitchen,” “Asian Dumplings” and “Asian Tofu,” all from Ten Speed Press, where the original versions of these recipes appear.

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